Politics and the Art of Possibilities
by MeltingPenguins
Summary: Vetinari vanishes from the city. How? And why? Hhow to get him back? And how did Rincewind and Ponder Stibbons get into the mess, too? Crossover with OriginalUniverse 'Sildrys'. Feedback highly encouraged. Story Abadoned
1. Chapter the First

**Chapter the first**

_In which the story begins with some plotting in the dark,_

_a few smoking buildings_

_and_

_Vetinari disappearing_

They were plotting.

Of course they were plotting, as there are few things two cloaked figures of a quite male shape could do in an dark, empty room.

"We get rid of your problem if you get rid of ours. Does it not sound like a charming idea?" a voice in the darkness spoke and was answered by an agreeing murmur.

"Just give us a day," the first voice continued. "Once we have had a good look at the documents, your city will experience something distinguishly curious," the speaker paused and pondered for a moment, "Even by its standards."

One could argue that those who are, despite all facts and human logic, trying to call Ankh-Morpork beautiful have the possibility to base their view on how colourful the city was. Now that it was the time in which spring and summer are holding a wrestling-match(1) for dominance above the city the Ankh occasionally became multicoloured. And maybe sentient somewhere shortly before it left the city(2). And despite this and other mind-boggling oddities the city worked.

Lord Vetinari, the Patrician and therefore foremost ruler over Ankh-Morpork, was the man responsible for that. The city had become a neat little working clockwork under his rule. Yet, as with all clockworks, even with those maintained best, some gears may come loose from time to time.

Today was one of those days.

"The Gamblers' guild, too?" Vetinari turned his view from the window, the slight surprise only noticable to those who knew him for years.

The Patrician's assistant just nodded, flipping through his notes.

"They had bets on which building the Fools' guild would demolish with their juggling of explosives. As to this moment it is uncertain whose roof took the greater amount of damage, the one of the Fool's Guild or of the Assassins. Which leads to a dispute amongst the Gamblers' Guild," Drumknott summarized.

Again Vetinari turned to look over to the smoking remains of what was once a good part of the roof of the Assassin's Guild. Or the Fools' one. It wasn't certain and there laid the problem. The Fool's guild had thought it a brilliant idea to start juggling with explosives, some of which landed on the roofs between the two buildings the last evening, detonating there and taking a good chunk from both. Now the Assassins demanded the money for the reparation from their neighbours, who in turn blamed the alchemists' guild, who saw no responsibility as they pointed out their work was never meant to be thrown into the air as the rapid movement as well as the change of pressure would have fatal consequences, which they claimed to have clearly told the Fools' Guild.

"And then there's the claim from the Bakers' Guild, Sir. Apparently they experienced a brief shortage of buns during the fire."

Vetinari rose a brow, knowing what was indicated by that statement, though even to him the idea sounded slightly off: "It certainly was an eventful night. Appointments for eight o'clock, Drumknott."

The secretary nodded, placed the related documents on the Patrician's desk and finally left the office.

This event, while quite unforeseen, was not unexpected at all.

Gears, as stated, tend to break, even under the best maintenance. But it was nothing that could not be mended. Vetinari sat down and started reading the documents before him, his mind working to find the neatest solution to the occurrences. From time to time he'd wander over to the window, a good indication that he was deciding which way to use.

It was only briefly before lunchtime (Vetinari did eat, contrary to what some people still believe, if not much,) when something actually unforeseeable happened. It was good that it was briefly before lunch, for otherwise what was about to happen would have not been discovered as quickly, which would likely have led to even greater problems.

There was an odd, crackling sound coming from one corner of the room accompanied by a strong, and therefore even odder, smell of boiling saltwater. The Patrician, taken by surprise this time, fixed his gaze on the aforementioned corner, not yet certain what to make of what his eyes and other senses were telling him now.

A good part of the room's colours seemed slightly distorted and blurred and within a heartbeat(3) the entire office had been overwhelmed by this phenomena.

As Drumknott brought the lunch only a few minutes after this, whatever the spectacle was had vanished.

Along with the Patrician.

* * *

(1)As with all wrestling matches the winner was fixed from the start, but on days like this the seasons delivered an extraordinarily good performance.

(2)The Ankh might have been the only river in the multiverse which would actually go and leave a city. It only needed to grow a tiny bit more sentient.

(3)The heartbeat of someone untrained running up the stairs of the biggest building in his area in this case.

* * *

**_The author's note and Disclaimer after the footnotes:_**

**_Discworld and all of its characters are © Sir Terry Pratchett_**

**_Gods/Folks of Sildrys (the lame stuff) © Gesine Betker (lilmaibe)_**

**_Needed to get this story out of my head to be able to work on 'Gods of Sildrys' itself again._**

**_No copyright infringement intended, neither is this in any way an attempt to make people buy my stuff._**

**_(Because I think people who'd use fanfiction to make money are buggering bastards)  
_**

**_Read and Review, though, please, as it also helps to improve my own style and skills in general nonetheless._**

**_Thank you._**


	2. Chapter the second

**Chapter the second**

_In which Angua thinks she caught a cold,_

_Death talks about bureaucracy_

_and_

_Vetinari learns the dangers of tea_

"Through the floor?" Commander Vimes had heard and seen an awful lot through the years, but _this?_

Wizards, now there was someone who might vanish through the floor. People who pissed off trolls would vanish through the floor, in a matter of speaking.

But Vetinari?

"Through the _floor?_" Vimes repeated, the italics clearly audible. Both Carrot and Angua nodded, though Angua's nod seemed a bit curious as she was trying her best to untangle her hair.

There was no doubt about it. Vetinari even smelled black. Against her nose the secrets of the Oblong Office had a hard time staying secret.

At least some of them.

A few.

One.

Aside from that was the puzzling matter now. The traces Angua had smelled gave away that Vetinari was working as one would imagine. He had moved between his desk and the window, a few blueish-pink smells gave away that he was writing and then... Halfway between the desk and the window the freshest trace indicated that he moved through the solid floor.

"Maybe," Angua pondered, "the rainstorm a few days back did take its toll on me."

Under other circumstances she would have never said that. But in this special case she would have even left off someone who'd have voiced that consideration in front of her unharmed. Pragmatically speaking.

"Even if that was the case," Vimes pondered, leaning back against the wall and looking through the open door leading to the Oblong Office, "Where the bloody hell would Vetinari go? And for what reason?" He marched back into the room, tapped his foot against the spot in question and picked a specific item up from the table, "And why on the disc would he leave his stick behind?"

* * *

"HAVELOCK VETINARI?"

"Ah, I almost wondered what's been taking you so long." Meeting Death certainly didn't come as much of a surprise now. "So it finally happened. A bit unexpected and in a rather curious way, but..."

"OH, I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. This he actually hadn't expected. "You aren't?"

He considered this new information for a moment and looked around. The area around him was black. Well, black with a few sparkles here and there. The same sort of view you get in a pitch-black room after a while, when your eyes start to give false information to your brain and create the illusion of little dots of light. And the same sort of view one would expect after falling through one's floor due to some weird, most likely magical phenomena and getting stuck between the structural levels.

"NO. I AM HERE TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU ARE NOW LEAVING MY JURISDICTION."

Death looked down as the darkness around them vanished, revealing the blurry, grey shapes of a city several miles below. It certainly wasn't Ankh-Morpork. Even if it looked equally large.

"And whose jurisdiction am I leaving to?" The Patrician had all right to be rather unusually curious.

"AN OLD COLLEAGUE OF MINE. YOU WILL BE IN GOOD HANDS, CONSIDERING YOU MADE A LITERALLY GRAVE MISTAKE DOWN THERE."

The air whirred a bit.

"And down there would be?"

"OH, YOU WILL DISCOVER IN A MOMENT. AND A FRIENDLY BIT OF ADVICE: TRY TO PULL YOUR ARMS CLOSER TO YOUR BODY."

Vetinari had hardly any time to think about that particular information when he felt like some unseen force had pulled him from some sort of dream. (1) The next moment the city was coming closer at a frighteningly fast speed.

Now, in a good number of realities this would have ended fatally. But for some good reasons this story will let those realities be and not go and have Lord Vetinari get killed. Reason one: the story would be awkwardly short. Reason two: the author knows what she would have to expect from the community. (2) Therefore the Patrician's re-entry into the - due to lack of better words - mortal realm took place just underneath the roof of a small, awkwardly stuffed shop.

According to the laws of physics falling back first from the height of approximately 2 ½ metres would lead to several heavy to lethal injuries but little to no dust. Gods bless the narrative causality which causes the effects to switch place.

Vetinari landed, well, crashed amongst an array of weird goods, some crates, a lime-green stuffed ostrich, more crates, exotic masks, a number of bowls with little metal things in them, wooden boxes, glasses with unmentionable and unnameable things, empty crates and other bowls with something that, for certain, was regarded as edible somewhere. And a knitted blue cushion. It lacked a stuffed crocodile, though.

Deciding to lay there for a moment, the Patrician contemplated his situation. If he'd been a man to use such words he might have felt like he had cuddled a squid or tangoed with a bear-trap. But as he was who he was he decided on the simple term _delirious_. Yet... He had felt delirious before, but right now it struck him as if all the previous occasions had come together for a jovial tryst.

"Who are you?" a female voice suddenly thundered and Vetinari raised his head, squinting only slightly. Through the slowly settling dust he spotted the end of a crossbow bolt and behind it, in the dim light of the room, two dark eyes.

Dark and certainly not human. Vetinari knew a great number of species, but right now he could not remember one with a solid green sclera, no visible iris or pupil.

He knew what was said of _ The Lady _of course, but he doubted that she would run one of _ those_ shops. And it was improbable that she'd threaten someone with a crossbow.

It might have been this very sight that made him decide that slowly raising his hands was not much of a wrong idea right now?

"And how did ye get in 'ere, young man?" the woman growled, looking down along her crossbow.

Only now did the Patrician realize the curious lack of a hole above him. The dust finally settled, though that didn't help with the slight confusion that snuck around Vetinari's brain like a cat around something slowly moving on the ground. What he now saw before him actually caused the bewilderment to pounce him cheerfully.

If it weren't for the noticeable lack of a beard, the broad, pointy ears and the aforementioned eyes the woman might have been a dwarf. Though one could argue she made up for the missing facial hair with decorating her coal-black locks with lots of very colourful things. Some of them even identifiable.

"C'mon, out with yer name, young man," the woman repeated and Vetinari, who hadn't moved an inch yet, finally cleared his throat to answer.

"Havelock Vetinari. And I..."

"Vetinari?" the crossbow was lowered a bit and the woman blinked surprised "Ye're from Pettirosso, right? With a name like that ye must be down from Fonte Pettirosso or that area. For I dearly doubt ye're one of them rotten high-elves."

This was officially confusing now.

And one of the points at which the characters of other stories would have nodded, a ridiculous grin on their face and tried to play along. A behaviour that would sooner or later end with the character blacking out for some reason to wake up at yet another unfamiliar place.

"I am not. Actually," Vetinari informed the woman, who was still aiming her weapon at him. "In addition I am not even aware of where I am."

"Romree."

"Does not ring a bell."

"Romree. Biggest city on Sildrys." something seemed to dawn on the woman, "Ye're a wanderer? Oh, ye poor lad. How did ye die?"

"I didn't die. I -," the Patrician stopped the next words on their way from his brain to his tongue, looked at them from all sides, dissected them mentally and decided they were as good as everything else to say or not say at this moment, "fell through the floor."

The woman just tilted her head. "I'd call that an excellent way of dying, young man. Just 'ow did ye end up in my shop?"

So this was a shop indeed. But for some reason it didn't appear to be one of _those_. No. _ Those_ made sense in some way. They at least provided something that could, and often would, come in handy.

But here? There was actually no possible way a lime-green stuffed ostrich would ever become useful.

"I am as clueless as you."

"Ah, pity. I'm Saliva Bottles, by the way. They call me Ol' Sally." The woman finally lowered her crossbow. "Make yerself comfortable. I go and get ye some tea."

Sally moved into the back of the shop, followed only by the Patrician's view and a rustling sound which might or might not come either from one of the colourful things in her hair or the big eyed something in a glass on the shelf next to Vetinari.

After a moment the odd woman returned, carrying a cup that by no means belonged with the saucer it was standing on.

"I could have fled in the time you were away," the Patrician informed her after sitting up, eyeing the contents of the cup. It might have been tea. It at least smelled like tea. Somehow. With a lot of good will. It actually smelled like many teas. And it looked blue. But that might also be due to the light in the room.

"Bah," Old Sally pulled up a stool and sat down, "T' where? Ye basically admitted ye don't know the city. Given, one could _just_ run away, but not with an ankle like yers. Say, doesn't it hurt?"

Vetinari, who was up to now looking at the cup as if to decide if he should drink the tea or not moved his view down to his leg, his expression unimpressed:

"It actually does."

"Young man, ye 'ave an amazing self-control there." Sally tilted her head again. "I know a many folks that'd be squeaking like pigs in such a state. Ye know what? Ye drink yer tea and I get ye something to cool that."

Vetinari shrugged briefly, watched the woman frolic away and finally decided to just drink the tea.

There was indeed not the slightest chance it was poisoned. Poison would have likely made it taste less odd. It didn't taste bad, but tea would have not been on the list of things to compare the flavour to.

"Don't 'ave nothing, sorry," Sally announced upon her return and sat back down on her stool. Silently and oddly amazed she watched her guest empty the cup before she dared asking him something:

"'ow did ye manage t' end up 'ere? Normally wanderers appear up in the Marrowoods."

"I assume wanderers are something like undead?"

"Naw. Well... Yes and no, actually. They be folks that died somewhere not this where and then managed t' move through the realm of the dead and end up alive again 'ere."

"Interesting concept." Finally Vetinari put the cup to the side, grimacing a bit at the aftertaste. "But as I said before I have not died."

Now Sally seemed to ponder:

"Then 'ow did ye get 'ere?"

"If only I knew."

"Well, maybe ye didn't notice dying? Ye didn't make yerself some enemies where ye're from, did ye?"

Honesty had so far proven to be the right choice. "I would actually say I did. That comes hand in hand with being the sole ruler of the biggest city there is."

Suddenly Sally's eyes grew wide and her mouth formed the classic O. "That explains things." Again she thought for a moment. "Say, do they use magic in yer world?"

"Yes. But I am certain if they had tried to use it, I would have, as you said, become a wanderer. Maybe. A dirty, burned spot on the floor for certain."

"Well, then it might 'ave been stray magic. 'appens."

Vetinari eyed the woman for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "You are implying an accident?"

"Such things 'appen." Sally shrugged, rose, opened the door and pulled a small metal disc from under her dress. The sound she then produced was ear-ripping, which could only mean one thing: She had called the guards.

"You just called the police."

"Yep. If it was stray magic ye're better off with them and the University. I'm certain the folks there can bring ye back t' yer city in no time."

"Why are you helping me?" The Patrician let his lips twist into a doubting smile. Things like 'You don't even know me' or 'I appeared in your shop' are added automatically by a working brain without being actually said.

"Well, ye don't look like yer people are better off without ye. I know I'd dearly 'ope someone would 'elp 'er get back 'ere quickly if Lady Augusta would ever vanish from the city."

Before Vetinari could ask if his assumptions about this lady were correct two other people entered the store, their clothes clearly giving them away as the local guards. Even if the uniforms they were wearing looked more like something one would associate with a mad doctor than anything a guard should wear. But who knew what their daily work looked like in this city. There was a brief talk between Sally and the two before they waved Vetinari to follow them to a small, waiting carriage.

Only now did he see that it was evening and that the shop was located in the part of the city where you had to go through the streets sideways, which made it near impossible to get an impression of the rest city. Though the lanterns on the side of the streets looked rather interesting.

The station that they brought Vetinari to on the other hand was just what he had expected. He was brought to a small room and asked to wait for a constable who'd inform him about what to expect.

Some time passed, giving the Patrician the chance to study a map of the city that hung on the wall.

Romree didn't seem much larger than Ankh-Morpork upon closer inspection. If Vetinari saw this correctly he had landed in the part called Amaranth District and was now in what was pretty unceremoniously called -City-.

Then the door opened and someone stepped into the room carrying a tray with soup.

The woman... girl... judging by the body-shape the uniform gave away it was at least certainly a female... was by all means a rather unusual sight. Vetinari would have said she was from the Agatean Empire if it weren't for the lack of a nose and ears. The natural lack of ears and a nose as it seemed. The girl looked a bit like a lizard and the scales around her temples and the snake-like eyes didn't help.

"Good evening, sir," at least she didn't hiss, "I am Constable Fukui and I am to aid you." She put the tray down. "You should eat. Skipping through realities must be exhausting."

Maybe it was out of courtesy, maybe it was the influence this world had on him, but the Patrician ate, if only to get the tea's taste out of his mouth.

"Mrs. Bottles has told us of your claim to not be from this world yet not having died. She further claims that you said you are the ruler of the city you originated from and that it is likely you came here by the means of stray magic," the constable read from a notebook. "Is this correct, sir?"

A nod.

"Very well, sir. We will inform the University as quickly as possible. And, if I may say, you seem to enjoy the soup."

"It helps with the taste," Vetinari admitted, though he stopped all his moves when the constable suddenly stared at him.

"Taste..." The look on her face spoke clearly of a nearing catastrophe.

"Sally, Mrs. Bottles, if I understood you correctly, gave me some tea."

Constable Fukui sat back, staring in disbelief: "...Oh..."

What Vetinari didn't know at that point of time was that Old Sally's tea was nicknamed Weekly Hangover all over Romree. It was said to instantly kill demons (3) and knock out each and every mortal or semi-mortal being should it dare to eat something within the six hours following the consumption of the drink.

What the Patrician knew, though, was that things certainly didn't work as he was used to, as the world round him waved a cheerful Bye-bye and he fell forward onto the table.

He could have just as well decided to play along, apparently.

* * *

(1) Forces like that are always unseen. Which doesn't keep them from smelling of burned milk, feeling like a dog's nose or a full bladder or sounding distinguishingly like a doorbell at 7 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday.

(2) TvTropes' Cruel and Unusual Death gives a pretty good idea here.

(3) Though that was yet to be proven, as demons rarely sit down for a cup of tea.


	3. Chapter the third

**Chapter the Third**

Two like-minds meet and talk a lot

and

Rincewind gets a brief moment of bliss

There were only two possibilities:

Either they had a very unique understanding of prison cells or hospital rooms in Romree or someone had brought him to a place that belonged to one of the city's nobles.

Vetinari pulled himself into a half-sitting position in the bed and stared at the thin, dim column of light between the drawn curtains on the window across the room.

He yawned briefly, his mind still trying to get back on track and inspect the situation he woke up into.

He lay in a plain, unadorned four-poster bed, dressed in a grey nightshirt; his ankle was healed, but a gauze patch on his forehead still told of the last thing he remembered.

And now he was here, in a small room with wooden floor and some simple carpets, dark paneling, and a green wall with a rather decorative rhombic pattern.

And an envelope on the nightstand.

'**To the man who seemingly fell from the sky**' stood there in fine handwriting. Such words surely didn't speak of their writer's intelligence. They were common for someone who believed himself to be of great wits and humour, while lacking both.

Someone equally dull as someone who'd make such assumptions based on a simple sentence.

After all, there was much more to the concept of intelligence than some believed. Intelligence isn't using big words and refusing to acknowledge the existence of humour.

The Patrician opened the envelope and started reading.

**Dear Sir**

**I****f you are waking at when it is getting dark, matches can be found in the**

**nightstand and the lamp has been refilled**** regularly ****since your arrival.**

**If you wake after dark the lamp should have been lit.**

**I am certain reading this with a little more light will be much more comfortable.**

Placing the letter aside Vetinari pulled the matchbox from the drawer and lit the little lamp. Oil lamp, undecorated, dark green again.

**Your light injuries have been taken care of**

Vetinari rather casually touched the gauze patch.

**and we took the liberty to go to repair your ****clothing****,**

**as they suffered from your sudden appearance in Mrs. Bottles****'s**** store.**

**An advice to end this letter:**

**Don't try to get up. Wait for a servant.**

The letter was signed with a very loopy signature that at first glance looked more like Luguyla Haddoy than anything else and Vetinari was a little bit thankful he knew that at least the first name was meant to be read _Augusta_. He read the lines again and then for a third time before placing the paper to the side and moving out of the bed.

One of the previous times he had felt horrible decided to put down its glass and stop chatting with the other occasions and trip him over as if to remind him of the good old times.

Inwardly Vetinari frowned as his legs refused their work for a moment and he landed face first on the carpet.

Right next to a little card.

**Told you**

Two words, two simple, if snappy words.

The Patrician's lips curled into a rare smirk.

It was only a bit later - Vetinari had just pulled himself up on the bed again and was inspecting the nightshirt he was wearing now, - when the door was opened.

"Ah, you are awake," the servant-girl who had entered observed, curtsied and turned around to leave again.

Puzzling, if only slightly.

For a few moments his lordship sat there, his hands folded and waited for the girl to return. As he expected she came back with three other servants: herself, a slightly older woman, and a young man carrying clothes.

The group was led by an elderly man with a short white ponytail and the face of an equally old pug.

"Good evening, Sir," the pug-man greeted, his voice sounding just as you'd expect it. "Her ladyship is expecting you in her office. She will answer the questions you might still have."

The lower servants placed the clothes neatly on the bed and left the room again.

"I shall lead you to the Empress when you are dressed, Sir." With these words the pug-man left the chamber, too, pulling the door closed.

Vetinari raised a brow. He had to admit he expected that the servants would have been ordered to help him dress. But apparently... He turned his view to the items that had been brought.

Not his own clothes, but something he would have picked if he would have had to.

And, quite curiously, amongst the items was a cane. Black with a simple bronze grip. Vetinari balanced it in his palm for a moment; let his eyelids sink a little before he went to get himself dressed.

His legs had finally woken as well by the moment he buttoned the vest, straightened it and the jacket again and walked to the door.

The butler led him down several corridors and stairs, Vetinari occasionally catching a glimpse of the city outside.

The office itself was quite what he had expected after what he saw on the way here.

Made nigh entirely in dark wood, it had a rather raw feeling around it despite the lavish ornaments and decorations covering every single inch of space. Wall paneling seemed to be trying to show something, images, perhaps an entire story, but it must have gotten lost somewhere in the carver's artistic rush. What was left were merely remnants of the tale he had to tell, lonely carvings that together made up a beautiful, though somewhat thick, lacking a better word, pattern on the wooden panels.

Only one wall was not such; instead it had huge windows, stretching from about waist height to the very top, which provided and excellent view of the city below. But whatever space was left between the windows, however, was also taken up by seemingly random ornaments, and small lamps hung there to provide light when there was none. This part had only one major drawback, and that was the amount of blinding light it let inside.

Though that was not the case right now as the sun was setting on just the other side of the building.

The rest was what anyone would expect in an office like this. Before the fireplace, of course also lavishly ornate, stood two wooden chairs, and a small table between them. On the other side of the room stood the heart of every office: The desk.

Dark, massive, but by far not as decorated as most parts of the chamber.

On it laid various books and folders stacked up; someone must have left them there halfway through, as there were also some loose papers lying around in a bit of a controlled mess. If there is such a thing. Lastly, more books rested neatly on a small number of shelves lined up by the wall opposite the huge windows.

A blonde woman in a dark purple jacket and a skirt of a lighter version of the same colour stood by one of the bookshelves and from somewhere came low music.

It actually took the Patrician a moment to spot the source: It was a box. At least mostly. It had a handle and a round disk right on top of it, and a sort of slightly twisted tube attached. The disk, seemingly replaceable, was turning and when a thin arm touched it surface, it produced the sound in question.

"I assume you don't have gramophones where you come from," the woman suddenly spoke after Vetinari had looked at the contraption for maybe a moment too long.

"Gramophone," he repeated, more to try out the new word than due to being surprised. "Interesting."

"If it interests you, the library can provide you with books," the woman continued, not looking up from her book.

"Do you treat every stranger like this?" Vetinari mused. Those who knew him, or at least had earned the right to say that, might have recognized his away of testing the waters. But they would have also been surprised how careful he was. After all, these were unknown waters. With a potential to host things unimaginable on the disc.

"Only those I can trust."

"Am I trustworthy?"

Augusta's lips curled into a small, barely visible smile, her eyes still fixed on the pages:

"You come from a noble house and spent most of your childhood with an aunt who was also responsible for the majority of your upbringing. You are a trained assassin, skilled in fighting with unusual weaponry and you play chess. And another chesslike game. You were shot once, poisoned various times, though only one time it was near a lethal dose. Arsenic. And you came in contact with a vampire once, who didn't turn you though she bit you. You must have impressed her," she snapped the book closed and looked up. "You could be part of my family."

"I take it your family is trustworthy then?"

"Not to strangers."

"The human body tells one of many things if one knows to listen," Vetinari said after a moment, seemingly absent-mindedly inspecting the cane.

"Indeed. Though I must admit you were a quite easy exercise."

Augusta sat down behind the desk and flipped open a folder, waving the Patrician to take a seat as well.

"Because I'm so similar to your family?"

"Precisely. Though I wouldn't even have needed to see the bullet wound to know about it. My brother Albert suffered from a similar injury and walks like the constable have described your movement without a cane."

"You have a gonne here?" Vetinari rose a brow. Even he wasn't immune to the old "once bitten twice shy."

"Gonne?" the woman picked a document from another folder, comparing it with the one she was reading, "Ah. Guns, Pistols, Rifles, depending on the size. In fact," she pulled open a drawer, producing a small revolver, "we have many of them."

She placed it on the table without even looking up from her paperwork.

"Feel free. It's not loaded."

"I'll pass."

"These are standard for the police. Personally I prefer Ikarinashi."

"Martial Arts?" It sounded slightly Agatean after all.

"Exactly."

Augusta rose, stepped to the window and gestured towards Vetinari to accompany her.

"What would you call that?" she asked, watching as more and more dots of light appeared in the city.

"The pulsing heart of an empire settling itself for the night."

"A view familiar?"

"In a way. Say, these lamps are..."

"They work with gas."

"Interesting."

A brief moment of silence followed.

"It is a pity," Augusta started, "That you still are quite... May I say...lost?"

"I talked more than usual indeed."

"Give it another day awake or two. Your body and mind need to adjust to the surroundings."

Vetinari nodded slightly, watching a column of smoke move in the distance.

"You've been sleeping for four days straight, to answer that question. Amazing achievement, considering you drank a whole cup of Mrs. Bottles's tea."

In few words the woman explained the meaning of this.

"Think you prepared your city to function without you for more than a week?" she finished, leaning against the column between the windows.

"I would say so."

"But less than a month?"

"Indeed. You're indicating you can send me back before that time has passed?"

"The University has been doing research on transreality relocation for centuries now. It's all theory though."

"Someone achieved a practical success. If only by accident."

"The head of the department of magical studies is on holiday still. But..." Augusta pulled a small silver watch from her jacket and walked over to open the door.

On the other side stood a slim boy of around sixteen with short black hair with some orange spots in it as if bleaching went wrong, his hand still raised to knock.

"'ow d'ye do that, Ma'am?" he inquired, looking confused. In response the empress gave the same little smile from before and the young man started to rummage the bag he was carrying over his shoulder.

"Professor Carmody will arrive an 'our later and Miss Plum says she needs the city, that would make things easier."

Augusta turned her head, looking expectant at Vetinari.

"Ankh-Morpork," he answered and the boy nodded.

"Is that written with a dash or as one word?"

"With a dash."

The boy nodded again, noting things down: "Miss Plum as well says she will inform the needed forces as soon as the next possibility occurs. Whatever that means."

He bowed, turned and started running down the corridor.

"Mr. Monday is a bit odd, but one of the most reliable sources one can hope for." It was an unasked question she answered there, as well as the next one. "Miss Plum is the university's librarian."

With that, all further questions were answered.

"And now," Augusta moved back to the bookshelves, opening a door in the corner there, "I'd be delighted if you'd accompany me for dinner and tell me something about your city."

.-+-.

In some odd way, this was amazing. Who would have thought there'd ever be such a neat little bubble of boredom to be found right in Ankh-Morpork, at the Unseen University of all places? Well, whoever was to think that, that someone certainly wasn't named Rincewind. In fact, he avoided to think that the best he could. He knew the moment he'd openly wonder about it, even if not aloud, something not boring and certainly dangerous and life-threatening would happen.

Instead he just sat there in front of Hex, watching the fishes in the aquarium and looking up which error-code Hex produced from time to time during the rather fruitless search for Vetinari.

Next to him, sprawled over a few chairs, lay Ponder Stibbons, sleeping peacefully.

They had been taking turns at watching, well, waiting for the results and then starting a new search-process.

A few days ago the watch had enlisted the help of the UU, or better Hex as they had run out of ideas as to where to look for the Patrician. Ever since then Hex was searching high and low and it was... by no means boring. No, who called this boring? It certainly is everything but boring.

Rincewind looked up as the quill scratched over parchment, indicating the newest results. Again, there were lots of 0s and 4s.

At this moment Ponder woke, yawning heartily. "Anything this time?"

"Hex found that Vetinari is keeping bees near Quirm," Rincewind summarized, reading slowly through the lines, "but I think that's not the one the Watch is looking for."

"Unlikely." Again a yawn and Ponder adjusted his glasses. "We searched DAN(1) several times now. Expanded to different realities," he looked up at a bowl with a tiny trampoline, "and still not a single trace of his lordship. I must admit it is getting frustrating and bo-"

"Hush!" Rincewind slapped both hands over the other man's mouth, "Don't say it!"

"Mhn Mhnt?"

"That word. If friendship is not an empty phrase for you, don't say that word."

Ponder nodded slowly and Rincewind, after waiting a moment to make sure the multiverse hadn't heard anything pulled his hands back, acting as if nothing happened.

Very well, what's next?" Stibbons cracked his knuckles, ready to start the next search.  
"Err, 972 point 21 point 199 point 21 to 972 point 21 point 999 point 21. What do these numbers mean anyway?"  
"You wouldn't understand."  
"Good answer..."  
A short moment past when a small annoyed grunt was heard, causing Rincewind to look up rather concerned.  
"What happened?"  
"I slipped and typed 972 point 21 point w99 point 21," frowned Ponder. "I can't abort the search and that wrong sector will lead to a system-crash once Hex reaches that part."  
"Oh," Rincewind sighed inwardly, relieved that nothing bigger happened and that things remained as uneventful as before.

His face suddenly twisted into an expression that goes hand in hand with the sound of Meh.

He had just thought that.

He had just thought out loud that things were boring.

"What's wrong?" Ponder inquired, looking a bit worried at the other man who had just raised a hand and was now silently counting down from five.

5...,4...,3...,2...,1...

There was a small sound that reminded of a burp and Hex produced yet another list of results.

0s and 4s and...A 3.

"You don't have permission to access 1kL-w01...?" read Stibbons. "That can't be right; that sector should not even exist." Behind him, Rincewind was hitting his head against the wall, muttering something along the lines of Stupid and Knewit.

Hex meanwhile wrote something in addition.

Ponder blinked and stared at the writing for a moment, rose a puzzled brow, read further, then grabbed the paper and dragged Rincewind with him out of the room and towards the library.

* * *

(1) Discal Area Network


	4. Chapter the fourth

**Chapter the Fourth**

_Wherein there is talk about fishing,_  
_books attempt to become a plotdevice_  
_and_  
_the advantages of bathfoam are brought up_

"Think of a … err … fishing trip," Ponder tried.

This was a curious day. Only a few hours ago he was sitting (or lying) patiently in front of HEX, entering dimensional sectors in an attempt to find the missing Patrician.  
And now, briefly after breakfast, he was standing here in the library, trying to explain to the University's staff and Commander Vimes, why what has happened was actually nigh impossible.  
"Imagine you have to fold up your net in order to carry a fish you caught."  
"Rubbish," the Archchancellor interrupted. "First off I'd have a pole and second a bucket."  
"Imagine you forgot both, Sir." Stibbons waved his hands rather frantically, looking a bit longingly over his shoulder at the book the Librarian was carefully reading, which had appeared in the library about an while ago.

_Basic Theories & Knowledge of the Arcane_

It wasn't by far the topic that made it so interesting.  
It was the book's topic in combination with the where it was from.  
Getting insight on another world's magic...  
"Or the bucket is already full," he quickly added. "But your final catch is this really huge one and you only have a net to carry it home."  
"Then I wouldn't need to fold the net, young man."  
"But the fish might slip through."  
"Stibbons, I really need to take you fishing one day. You seem to have no idea of nets."  
This was getting depressing again.  
All Ponder tried to explain to the Unseen University's staff was why Vetinari apparently disappeared to a world that, to their knowledge, should not even exist and why it was not exactly accessible by the usual translocation spells, left alone by the L-Space.

And where that book came from.

The main problem was that he himself couldn't really understand it. Yet.  
After all, they knew about multiple realities already, but all of these could be entered through the L-Space. Why should that not be possible in this case?

Ponder had tried explaining it with comparing universes to a chestnut tree, with the fruits being a world, while the sharp spines were the possible alternate realities. The twigs and branches were the possible connections between the worlds. And that this new world was on a whole different tree.

He should have known better. Of course they had picked this explanation apart.

"Why would Vetinari climb trees?" "Why can't we get there through the library?" "Where are the rest of our tree's chestnuts?" and, of course, "That other tree is still a chestnut tree, isn't it?"

Sighing heavily, he sat down with the librarian, watching the other wizards start a discussion.  
"Just one question, Mr Stibbons." All of a sudden, Commander Vimes stood next to him. "The one I came here for: Can you get the Patrician back?"  
"No. The gate to here has to be opened from the other side.(1) I can get you there, though, and then you return with Lord Vetinari." He held out a small note. "This came with the book. In short it's instructions on where to find a way to construct a device that can get you there. We had a look at it already."  
"And why can't they just build it over there and send him back?"  
"They are... They don't have our...err...address, to put it that way. They have the beginning, but the last part is missing. As long as they don't have that getting something here is nigh impossible."  
"Nigh?"  
"They did send the book through the L-Space, obviously," Ponder edged around. "But it did land on one of the shelves and we almost missed it. The librarian said it's likely due to some interference that was caused by the multidimensional distance."  
"Ook," the librarian nodded, closing the book in question.  
"What they need is something with a strong magical signature from here." Stibbons held up a little pouch. "They sent us this so we can open a passage to their world."  
"So you can build this thing," Vimes questioned in a tone that made Ponder feel really unwell, "get someone there and have that someone return with Vetinari?"  
The wizard smiled briefly. "Yes. You get to that other world, find him and get back. There should be no problem."(2)

"There might be a tiny problem or two."  
Lady Augusta and Lord Vetinari watched the plump little woman with a perfectly synchronized expression of disbelief as she pointed at the papers on the table.  
The woman in grey (Augusta was wearing a green costume with a neat floral embroidery) had been introduced to the Patrician as Professor Melretta Carmody, Head of the Arcane Studies and Research Department of the Imperial University of Romree. In short, she was the Professor for Magic.  
"Which would be?"  
Carmody looked up at the Patrician:  
"Miss Plum may have been able to get the book to your people, even wrote a note they shall bring it back, but she forgot to tell the wizards on your side to check if the initial portal spell is still active. Wouldn't be of much use to you if you'd get back home, step into your office and fall through the floor again. Atrocious Abyss, who'd know where you'd end up then."  
"And there is not the possibility," Augusta folded her hands as she sat back down behind her desk, "that you send an additional note, telling them?"  
"Unfortunately not. It's the meta-arcane nature of the grimoire in addition with the note that aided in establishing the transdimensional rip and opening it long enough."  
"I heard it was a quite basic book on arcane matters."  
Professor Carmody turned her head to Vetinari, who was looking out the window at the city as if to pick the places where he would want to land if he'd fall through his floor again.  
"Yes, Sir. Miss Plum had to make sure the book comes through. There would already be enough interference due to the assumed multidimensional distance between our worlds. There had to have a specific amount of magic in its pages. Not too little, not too much."  
"Too much would have caused what?"  
"That's impossible to predict, Sir, as we have no experience as to how magic works on your world. If it differs too much from here a book with a stronger signature could have cause all sorts of mishaps."  
"What do you think, Professor?" Augusta interrupted, tipping her fingertips together.  
"I can agree with Miss Plum that sending information and instructions to Ankh-Morpork will be the best. I am certain our colleagues over there will understand what's needed."

Professor Carmody's thoughts here were based on the simple observation that Lord Vetinari was a healthy, if odd human, who had no problems surviving on Sildrys. He even managed to sleep less than a week after Old Sally's tea. His world could not be that different.

"And would it not be possible to send another note with a book of the same qualities?"  
"That's the problem, your ladyship; _Basic Theories & Knowledge of the Arcane_ is the only book justifiable to send."  
"It's a standard publication for your school. There are dozens of it."  
"Not of these particular copies."  
"These particular copies?"  
"Yes, ma'am. We had to send one of the two unaltered copies as the newer ones, due to altering some formulas and theories..."  
"...have an alternate meta-arcane nature I assume."  
Carmody nodded.  
"Then why not send the other one? They will bring the books back after all, will they not?"  
"That's a problem, ma'am. The other book is... gone."

It was like getting stabbed in the heart for Ponder.  
He had only been able to skim the book. Some chapters looked interesting. Most things he had spotted were something he knew already, which meant Romree had about the same standard in research as they had here. Though likely lower as he had not been able to spot a good chunk of what he would count as basic knowledge.  
But now he had to hand the grimoire over to Commander Vimes.  
It was a pity.  
But the book had to be returned. The note clearly stated it was the only copy of the book in its original state the University of Romree had left. And Ponder knew he would face the Librarian's wrath if he would keep the book away from its home for too long.  
With a long sigh he rose from the floor of the Great Hall after installing the travelling device, dusted off his robes, and turned to those waiting.  
Those waiting right now consisted of the Archchancelor, Commander Vimes, Carrot, and Angua.

Some people may have wondered why Vimes could not do this alone. After all, he just needed to get through the portal, find Vetinari, wait for the people on the other side to adjust their instrument and then return together with the Patrician. Some people apparently forgot they were talking about His Grace, Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. He would spent the time that was needed for preparing the journey home to roam the streets of Romree trying to find out who was responsible for the initial disappearance of Lord Vetinari. And if it was just an overzealous student. Vimes would do all to uncover the secret. Angua would be a great help with that and Carrot would not let her go alone. What if something went wrong and...

Ponder shook of his thoughts and concentrated on what was important now. He stepped back and activated the contraption, resulting in a shimmering, if small, glittering circle appearing in midair.  
The air suddenly smelled of cinnamon.  
"Cinnamon," Angua commented, looking a bit puzzled. "Well, if each portal has a unique smell..."  
Vimes, who had already tucked away the book, looked at the portal and, without a word, stepped boldly through it.

To come to the conclusion that this certainly was something one needed to get used to.

"That was cold." Behind Vimes, Angua and Carrot had stepped through the portal and apparently had experienced the same.  
It took a moment till they were able to see in the dim light that illuminated the empty room again.  
"Are you Commander Vimes?" a male voice suddenly asked and a man in his best years (and the corresponding decaying hairline) and a dark blue, almost black and very simple robe stepped forward, raising a lantern.  
"And you are?"  
"Nigel Connerelli, Sir. Director of this school. Welcome to Romree." Polite nods were exchanged and Connerelli led the group out of the room.  
"I apologise for the choice of chamber and the lack of light, but..."  
"You didn't know the exact effects of the travel and when we'd arrive," Vimes finished as if he heard that sentence somewhere already, searching his pockets for a cigar.  
"Yes. I shall send a message to the palace. Ask if you have any questions."  
"Who is working with those portals?"  
The director reached under his robe and produced a short list. "The students that worked in the field of research in the past year."  
Vimes wondered about the director being prepared like this only as long as it took his brain to remind him that Vetinari was around.  
"But it won't be of any use. Chief Inspector Dubois already found the source in one of the 1st grade students."  
"Oh."  
Connerelli only nodded and opened the door to his own office.

After this the talking was limited on the basics. Vimes was trying one of the cigars the director had offered him, Carrot was studying a streetmap that hung on the wall and Angua felt the urge to get drunk after spotting a moonchart.

They had TWO moons on this world.  
What joy.

Several people came and went. One to pick up the message for the palace and the local police, one to get the book and the token needed to open the portal back to Ankh-Morpork.

It certainly was taking a while.

"How long will it take to get use back anyway?" Vimes inquired, blowing smoke into the air.  
"Two days. Maybe even less. It's only a bit of recalculating things according to the arcane signature you brought with you. There will be no problem."  
"Certain?"  
"Of course. It's just some minor things that need adjusting. The world's movement and such things. Nothing big. You'll be home before the weekend ends."

There are some music tunes that appear to exist in each and every reality. From guitar riffs(3) over drinking songs to full length opera. One of these tunes was, right now, hummed by Rincewind, who lay in a bathtub, his legs dangling over the sides. Briefly he wondered why he felt the urge to shout out something about being building material. Then he went back to mere relaxing, poking a little rubber duck - that for some manufacturing malfunction went Moo - across the water. Bathing was good evidence that the phase of unforseeable and dangerous occurrences was over. If it was a regular bath such as this, of course. Regular tub, regular water, regular steam fogging the windows and mirror. Regular words appearing on the mirror telling Rincewind to Taste the World. Regular glowing words carrying the same message appearing on the walls. Regular sound of water splashing as it gets left astonishingly fast. Regular loud and panicking screaming getting lower and lower. And a soft Moo.

Ponder Stibbons meanwhile was spending the evening trying to discover the source of the pressed flower he had found on the floor right after Commander Vimes and his rescue team had departed through the portal.  
So far he had ruled out the following possibilities:

-Former possession of a member of the Watch  
-Former possession of the Librarian  
-Former possession of someone of the Faculty  
-Outside  
-L-Space  
-Secret Admirer

"Why did I even consider that last point?" he mused, scratching his forehead.  
+++The Impossible Has To Be Excluded+++  
Ponder sighed and looked up at Hex: "Yes, but we have only that other world remaining as potential explanation."  
+++Improbable+++  
"Impossible. The gate led to their great hall. Even if they had flowers standing around there, it's unthinkable that those were pressed."  
+++It Is What Remains+++  
Another sigh and Ponder turned the flower between his fingers. He had read the book. He would have noticed a flower between the pages. It wasn't even a special flower. Twiggy Mullein. That grew somewhere on university grounds if he wasn't mistaken.  
His thoughts started to wander as Hex' quill suddenly started scratching over the parchment again:  
+++Do You Have A Towel?+++  
Ponder blinked, then heard the scream, the door being opened and slammed shut and the panting. He turned to inquire from Rincewind what it was this time...

...and was thankful for the old fashioned, strategically placed foam.

* * *

(1) It's always like that. The gateway, door, younameit can always be opened only from the side that can easily be classified as dangerous and which will certainly involve more complications and potentially lethal situation than the people on the safer side expect.  
(2) As Reader in Invisible Writings, Ponder should actually be able to know of the previous footnote, should he not?  
(3) Even if a world knows no such thing as a guitar, you can be certain to hear something sounding peculiarly like_ Iron Man_ or _Highway to Hell_.


	5. Chapter the fifth

**Chapter the fifth**

Wherein there happens a lot more than in the previous chapters,  
amongst other things 

Rincewind and Ponder are getting quasi-kidnapped

By now it might be time to sit back and have a closer look at the general concept of concepts.

Once we are done with that let us actually lean in onto the material and try again.

If the most common of statements about them is correct, there exists only one concept for everything and all others, that remotely remind the viewer of it, are certainly stolen from the initial idea and are therefore impossible to work on their own.  
Amazingly the original concept seems to always be a different one, namely the one the person answering the question likes best.  
Apparently it isn't easy to accept a working concept being simply similar to the already known one.  
And maybe even harder to discuss them and see what makes them work after all.

Lady Augusta and Lord Vetinari, though, hardly had any problems with that.

"It is a most interesting idea," Her Ladyship nodded, put her cup down and watched the sun-flooded garden.  
"Though not applicable here?" Vetinari leaned back and folded his hands. To a neutral bystander it might have been interesting to witness how easily those two could talk about politics. There might be people out there who would have tried to 'talk sense' into the Patrician upon hearing how he ruled his city.  
Lady Augusta distanced herself from being a do-gooder.  
"Sildrian sentiments, my good Vetinari." She picked up the cup again, briefly shaking her head at a note a servant had brought that moment.  
"I take it Commander Vimes didn't arrive alone?"  
"Precisely," the empress smiled briefly, told the servant to make appointments for eight in the evening and turned back to Vetinari, "Not surprising after what you said about him. But that's not what is off."  
She handed the note over.  
"Interesting. Most curious indeed."  
What had happened was the following:

The student, whose messing around with the theories and experiments of transdimensional travel had brought Vetinari to Romree, had vanished shortly after the investigation had led to him.  
It should be mentioned here that the young man vanished after being taken captive, not before. If he would have simply fled, the situation might have been half as curious. But bowing to the rule of suspense it shall not be given away what exactly made things so odd. Not yet.

What can be given away, maybe because it doesn't come much of a surprise, is that Commander Vimes was grumpy.

He knew it was not at all fair to not trust this, wossname... Duhba knew what he was doing, but Vimes would have preferred to go and find the culprit himself. Now he was stuck on this alien world with nothing else to do but wait.  
Well, maybe he could follow Carrot's example and simply have a look at the city. See how the police was working here and perhaps get something for Sybil.  
After all, the city was not unlike Ankh-Morpork. At a first glance at least. All other sense painted a different picture.  
But, to put it like this, what the city was lacking when it came to fine flavours it outweighed with weirdness.  
The simplest example here might be the fact that one of the students, who had passed by as Angua was staring at the moon-chart again, had looked her up and down and bluntly asked her if she was a werewolf or a wolfwere and then told her she shouldn't worry, the next full moon was still three weeks ahead.

Twenty and one day that is, as the week on Sildrys had only seven days.

Another example certainly was the two Constables Vimes had met just outside the Police's Headquarters. He only saw them in passing, but he could have sworn one of them had the face of a snake. No nose and scales and all.  
And now the Commander was sitting in the office of the man who, Vimes was still seeing it that way, stole his work.  
Chief Inspector Dubois was a quite sturdy man with very impressive mutton-chops and a constantly watery eye.  
"Actually it was pretty simple to find and arrest the young Mister Upton, Commander," Dubois spoke in an odd tone. But if one looked at the face Vimes was displaying it could easily be sorted under 'I shall not go and accidentally insult you, but I'll have you know you're still not my superior.' "Would you have waited for someone else to come before you'd go and investigate?"  
"Certainly not."  
"No one in their right mind would do that. But if you want to show us how you work over in wossname...?"  
"Ankh-Morpork."  
"Ah, yes. If you want to show us how you work there, you could try and find Upton before you have to leave again."  
Vimes narrowed his eyes: "You lost him?"  
"He vanished from our Black Maria."  
"From the wagon?"  
"Naw, Black Maria is the lady who takes care of the prisoners over at Field's Station. I could give you Constable Partridge as - well, can it be called that? - guide. The lad needs to get some practical knowledge. Perhaps, with your help we can get Upton back before the weekend ends and we'll never see you again."  
The Commander nodded briefly, though he felt as if something was pinching his neck. But what and why?  
He knew he'd know if something was amiss, but he hadn't had that feeling yet. Nothing seemed wrong. Not around him, anyway.

"If that would have been the case I would NOT have run," Rincewind protested. He had tried to explain to Ponder what had happened in the bathroom and then, after he got dressed, explained again, now with the other man actually listening. They did go to the room then, but the writing was gone. Curiously the mirror was not fogged, which was proof enough for the Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography to prove he saw what he saw.  
Ponder on the other hand, though taking Rincewind's word for it (even he could not ignore a clear mirror in a room with steam-fogged windows), explained that it was most likely caused by some mishap somewhere on the University's grounds.  
"I have seen enough magical accidents to know one when I see it, _Mr. Stibbons_. This," he moved his hand over the wall where the writing had been, "was something different. If it wouldn't have been I would have frowned, dived, and waited for it to vanish again. Remember the liquorice rainworm rain? Aside from that, we both know which spell _could_ cause that, but who would have it spell out _Taste the world_?"  
"Yes, yes."  
It was not that Ponder wasn't listening. He just had his mind on his thaumometer, which, for lack of a better word, was going crazy. As in it displayed a magnitude in some places of the room that should not be there in the building. Not at all.  
"And it spelled out _Taste the world_?"  
"In pretty screwy handwriting, yes."  
Ponder took a deep breath, tapped the device against his lower lip and briefly stalked out of the room. Only a moment later he returned, nodding at Rincewind, who was sitting on the side of the tub, to follow.  
"You have an idea, don't you?"  
Instead of an answer Ponder reached into his pocket and produced the little flower.  
"Lovely, Ponder, but no."  
This earned Rincewind a glare that could have cut glass: "This is something I found on the floor right after Commander Vimes left. I excluded all possible explanation for its origin."  
"It's mullein like what grows along the walls outside, isn't it?"  
"Yes."  
"But it causes the same odd results on thaumometer as the parts of the wall where those writings were?"  
Ponder stopped, causing the other to bump into him, and looked a little surprised at that deduction.

Some people claim that Rincewind wasn't the brightest. Given, his vocabulary lacked a few words still or had them sorted in the wrong category, but it was plain wrong to say the many things he saw in his life (1) didn't find their way into his inner almanac. And logic had always played an important part in the fine art of staying alive.

"What's wrong?"  
"Err...Nothing. Yes...Yes, it does. Look."  
Fumbling the thaumometer from his robe again, Ponder displayed what caused him that much confusion by moving it between the flower and thin air.  
"See? It jumps to a negative magnitude. Not even you would cause it to do that."  
"Have I ever told you that you're a very funny and kind person?"  
Ponder sighed. "You know what I mean. Well..." he scratched his forehead, turned the flower between his fingers, and entered Hex' room, "...this is all we have to taste the world. Odd choice of words if you ask me. Hex? I require an in-depth analysis of the flower."  
A shutter opened and Stibbons placed the plant on a small tray, which then got pulled back into the apparatus.  
"Give me the composition of the world it comes from."  
Hex rattled for a while and, if one looked closely, some of the ants seemed surprised from time to time.

+++You will not like this+++

Ponder grabbed the list with results a moment later, staring at it in disbelief.  
"Is that even possible?" Rincewind, who was leaning over the younger man's shoulder, might not have known all the words and specific terms, but it was not hard to spot which entries on the quite long list had caused Ponder's jaw to drop.  
"No... not at all. And believe me. These are extraordinary bad news."

Indeed it was almost unthinkable what would happen if the portal would get re-opened with all the wrong spells and adjustments.

Now some might think: It happened twice already, what's the big deal? The big deal is the different nature of the disc and Sildrys. Energies from one world trickled over to the other, creating an unstable field which, if getting fueled further, that is, the portal being opened with even more wrong spells on it, would cause an explosion that would kill all mortal life on both worlds. In short words it was like rubbing sandpaper and a sponge together. Bits of one will get stuck on the other, rendering both useless and destroyed and leaving a bloody mess on the kitchen floor.

Which leads to the next question: Who would have sandpaper in the kitchen?

"That's of course the absolute worst case that could happen," Ponder finished his explanation to the Librarian.  
He hadn't dared to wake the rest of the faculty. Especially since he would still be in the progress of trying to wake them. Valuable time that was needed now.  
"Ook."  
"What do you mean 'It's not' ?", Rincewind inquired.  
"Ook. Oook. EEK!"  
"You didn't need to go into that many details!" he cried out, slumping onto the floor. Stibbons shared the feeling.  
"Now I feel sick..." he stammered, trying to get the images out of his head. "We have to send them a message."  
The Librarian carefully patted both their shoulders and shook his head at the Reader in Invisible Writing. "Ook."  
"Great, at least half a day too long." With a rather nasty and annoyed cry Rincewind let himself fall back, staring at the library's ceiling.  
So this was how it should end?  
A transdimensional portal between two worlds opening and the world's difference in arcane and otherwise nature causing both to...well...go BOOM?

In the most likely case.

The worst case, though...

Rincewind shuddered.  
He knew he would not get out of this one. NO ONE on the disc would get out of it.  
And it would take too long to get a message through the L-Space. All just because that other world was unthinkably far away from here.  
He cursed inwardly.  
The other side had managed to give a pretty good time-frame as to when they'd open the final portal. The earliest moment for that was in...well...earlier than it would take to warn them.  
There was the chance the people on the other side were aware of the problem, but that one entry on the atmosphere analysis...

It wasn't exactly Narrativum but seemed to share similar characteristics. Ponder had dubbed it Narrativum II in lack of a better word. And that meant one thing:

There would be only one single person to discover the doom-bringing error in the calculation and this person would -should- arrive just in the nick of time to stop the catastrophe from happening.  
Unfortunately, this person was sitting at a table to Rincewind's left, with no possibility to get to that other world.  
"Maybe we should," Ponder suddenly started, looking awfully depressed, "use the remaining time the best we can."  
"I shall go to sleep and stay in bed. Maybe I won't notice the explosion then."  
"Implosion."  
"Both deadly." Rincewind rubbed his eyes, got up and bid the others goodbye.

In front of his room, though, he stopped, looking at Ponder who had followed him.  
"What?"  
"Can we talk? The Librarian went to calm the books and I..." he paused, "It's important."  
"What about your fellows at the HEM?"  
"We two and the Librarian are the only ones who know about this. I don't want the others to possibly panic."  
The look on Ponder's face broke its own record at being miserable, making Rincewind feel sorry.  
"Look, Ponder, if you are seeking advice or comfort, I can't help you. I have no idea what to do in this situation. I can only say it's good that you don't want to cause panic." He paused. "I'm sorry."  
"No, no. It's not that." Stibbons took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "I entirely missed one important point due to the general situation. I have been such a galoot. The atmospheric structure, Rincewind. It indicates that other world is round."  
"As in _Roundworld_ round? And still they have magic?"  
"Yes. I can't imagine how that should or could be possible, but likely Narrativum II works a lot more differently than I assumed at first. But that's not important. If that other world is round and I take -" What followed were a lot of specific terms and formulas which Rincewind's brain decided to use as colourful decorations for the _'Bugger, why do I know this stuff?'_-box, "In short: There is a very high possibility that the time we'd need through the L-Space is reduced significantly as we are apparently getting closer to the world on an 9th-dimensional level."  
"How much reduced?" Those were news too good in the situation to NOT come with a significant problem.  
"It's only a first rough calculation I did on the way here. But there should be enough time to get from their library to where they are about to activate the portal before they'll be doing so."  
It sounded good. But Rincewind had a terrible feeling. "Did you think of unfortunate circumstances? The one getting through being attacked by otherwordly grimoires, tripping on the stairs in their university or having to ask someone for direction?"  
"...Err..."  
"I knew it", a sigh. "We're doomed."  
"Maybe I can help with that," a voice sounded from the room and the door creaked open, revealing...

Well, to put it frankly, Rincewind thought for a moment he was staring at himself.  
Though...  
After a quite average moment of pretty awkward silence and upon a second look the odd man actually looked not like Rincewind. Slightly. The hair was a slightly different shade and cut and the face had a slightly different shape. And his clothes were different. Black tunic and black and red pants. But aside from that: Give that man a robe and a pointy hat and he'd easily pass for Rincewind.

And apparently the Luggage liked him.  
Well, it didn't seem to mind him, which, basically, was the same.

"Let's see," he suddenly started. "The standard questions I guess. Who? I'm Salein. How? I'm a god; I'm capable of easy interdimensional travel. Why? Heavens, you two need someone to get you over to Sildrys to save the worlds."  
Ponder and Rincewind exchanged looks, both shrugging briefly, 150% uncertain about whether to listen, panic, scream, run, faint or wake the rest of the University.  
"Oh, do come in. And close the door you two."  
"Mind if I close it from the other side?" Rincewind tried, his legs twitching.  
"If you prefer to be here when the disaster happens. Feel free. Oh, by the way: The skin-ripping scenario is correct."  
Rincewind, and Ponder, cringed and decided, each on his own, to listen to the one claiming to be a god.  
"Now," Salein continued after the door was closed, "to make it quick: You are actually only semi-correct about the consequences of opening this next portal. Semi-Correct as us gods will go unharmed. Your pantheon is powered by belief, and as we are gods and know your gods exist they will be fine. It's a bit complicated and my folks have promised yours to help them rebuild this world afterwards. That's at least what they agreed upon a few hours ago. Here's where I come into play. I don't like the idea to have the worlds destroyed and assume you don't like it either. Therefore," he rose from his seat, stalked over to the door and tapped it, "I'll get you two over to warn them folks."

The door swung open, revealing a darkness with dozens of fine silver threads twinkling in it in place of the corridor.  
Factually speaking the darkness WAS a corridor. Just not the one that should be there.  
"Gentlemen, if you'd follow me please."  
Again the wizards looked at each other.  
"How shall we know we can trust you?" Ponder finally managed.  
Salein just shrugged. "You can't. Heavens, I'm known to be a good-for-nothing trickster and mischiefmaker; I wouldn't trust myself."  
"Charming. But...Hey!" Rincewind grunted briefly as the Luggage suddenly started to push him towards the door, "Ach, I don't believe it!"

The god snickered after they had all went into the darkness and closed the door behind him.

Instantly it vanished, leaving only a wide area with sparkling threads to be seen.  
"Where are we?" Someone had to ask this question and this time it was Ponder.  
"A-Thousand-Legs' Web. That's at least what we call it." Salein flounced around in front of them, looking very pleased with himself.  
"A-Thousand-Legs? Why..." At this Rincewind jumped over to hold the other man's mouth shut.  
"Don't ask!" he hissed, "If you have to it will likely to turn out some gargantuan, man-eating spider with thousand legs!"  
"Billions, actually," Salein sounded, "But it's only eating those not allowed to travel here."  
There was a groan behind him.  
"Now, don't groan. Oh, and an advice: Don't try to run, Rincewind. If you don't end up back here again you might find yourself on Prykaskyte(2) and I doubt you'd want that."  
Scratching his leg briefly, Rincewind started to follow reluctantly, trying not to imagine what that place could be like, all while Ponder seemed still more concerned with the nature of where they were right now.  
"What exactly is this then, Mr... Salein, wasn't it?"  
"Think of it as network of fast roads between realities. As said: If you don't know where to turn, you might end up somewhere not nice or back where you started. It's normally used by not-really-natural-beings that have not that many problems with navigating in a 10th-dimensional space. Where do you think do I know the Luggage from?"  
Heads were turned and the box in question looked up with its buckles, looking as innocent as possible.  
"Poor thing seemed rather confused when it came across me years ago. Can't resent him for that. We do look alike under this poor illumination, Rincewind. Anyway. I shall get you to a point in time a few hours from them starting the thingy and opening the gate."  
"Can't you bring us there now?"  
Salein shrugged at Ponder. "The other gods forbid me to get you over to stop things from happening. Not that I care. But if they'd spot you they'd likely send you back straight away. Therefore..."

"You are NOT allowed to meddle with this, Salein!" a voice suddenly boomed and a young black-haired man in leather armour dashed towards the three men separating his target from the other two. "This is NONE of your business, how often do you need to be told this?"  
Ponder twitched briefly at the level of the armor-clad man's voice and looked to his side, receiving a helpless shrug as answer to an unspoken question.  
"Who do you think you ARE?" the weird fellow almost screeched, hammering his index-finger against the chest before him, "The council has agreed on waiting what will come of it. You are NOT allowed to bring over someone to try and save them mortals from their own blindness!"  
"Fin?" the redheaded god tried to interrupt, "Fin!"  
The watcher turned and glared at Salein. "Shut up when I'm talking to you," he turned back to his target, opened his mouth when realization kicked in, "...wait..."  
"You can stop yelling at the poor bloke, Fin."  
It was amazing how far Rincewind was able to lean back as the one called Fin had yelled at him. Now he was slowly rising onto his feet again, an expression on his face that was made up the following:

47% terror, 41% confusion, 8% affront (he didn't know where that came from) and 1% Schadenfreude (he knew even less about that one's origin). Two of the remaining three percent had fled, leaving one to tell Rincewind that following that example would lead to nothing as he still stood in the middle of an interdimensional roadnetwork with a big chance to end up either dead or, worse, back here.

"If I may introduce you to Finoko," Salein's voice was heard and he laid, much to the other's distaste, an arm around the black haired fellow's shoulder, "Guardian of the divine sphere, God of Watchers and the _sharpest_ eye on all of Sildrys."  
Finoko growled and pushed the arm away: "Be quiet! Even you couldn't tell yourself from him under these circumstances if you were me."  
Salein's lips formed a baffled -What?-.  
"You know precisely what I mean," the watchmen barked. "Now get those away from here."  
"Fin, I'm trying to save the situation if it slipped your attention. And you are wasting precious time."  
"Save the situation? Have you forgotten what we and their gods agreed upon?"  
The redheaded god crossed his arms, looking entirely unimpressed. "I sadly have not. And that's the reason I brought those two...three here."  
"Look, I like the idea of the things that will happen just as little as you, but I have my orders and it is the mortals' own fault that they are doomed."  
Luggage glared the guardian god and Salein rolled his eyes. "How can you be so cold, Fin?"  
"It's their own fault, as said. Besides, you'd never get those to the right place in time anyway."  
"Why not?"  
"When we found you missing we took care you'd re-arrive when they're about to activate that device down at Romree no matter what you do. And you know you can't enter the Great Hall from here. The shield, remember? Even if I'd allow you to bring those to our world, there wouldn't be enough time. So forget it and bring them back to the University."  
"Fine," the redhead sneered. "Fine!"

Within a wink and before anyone could say a word, Rincewind, Ponder, and the Luggage vanished and Finoko looked pleased.  
"There. Was that so hard? I don't know why you thought your antics would change anything."  
The guardian turned to leave the net when a thought struck his brain:  
"Salein?"  
"Yes?" the face from which these words came right now defined looking awkwardly innocent.  
"To WHICH University did you bring them?"

* * *

(1) Passing by at high speed.  
(2) That's Ancient Sildrian for: I'm making this up to scare you.


	6. Chapter the sixth

**Chapter****the****sixth**

_in __which __we__ meet__ two__ excellent __mathematicians_

_people __are__ celebrating __for__ ominous __reasons_

_and_

_things __are__ starting__ to __get __curious_

A scene well known:

The clock has reached the twelfth hour and the bells are loudly announcing this.

...GONG...

The heroes are sprinting through dark, unfamiliar corridors to stop a disaster from happening.

...GONG...

They have no idea where they are.

...GONG...

And no idea where exactly to head.

...GONG...

Yet they are trying to get there as fast as possible.

...GONG...

Talk about how lost the cause is as they have no idea where to go.

...GONG...

They turn a corner

...GONG...

One of them points at what can only be what they were looking for

...GONG...

They burst into the room

...GONG...

Yell 'Stop' or something along those lines.

...GONG...

Thereby keeping the one about to push a button, turn a lever, cast a spell, open a box, eat the fish, mix the substances or sign the contract from doing so

...GONG...

Stopping the disaster from happening just before the last chime.

...GONG...

For Ponder and Rincewind however all it took was asking a passing student where they were, discover that they had landed right before the entrance of the Great Hall, walk in casually and explain what was wrong.

But that led to the next problem:

Now they all were stuck here.

"And how long will we have to wait now?", Vimes was... not in his best mood, to put it mildly.

"About a year", Wymond Porlock, the man in charge of the portal-project, appeared confident, even though his failure to ask someone for any odds about that other world and wrong calculations based on the resulting incomplete data might; Ponder and Rincewind had quickly been informed that Salein's word on such matters wasn't worth the air used to speak them; have very well caused a desaster, even if it was not the entire destruction of both worlds.

"A whole YEAR?"

"Sir Samuel, calm down please", Vetinari slowly tapped his finger on the cane's handle, exchanging looks with Lady Augusta.

"Professor Porlock", the Empress started, her face deprived of any emotion, "Care to explain why it will take so long?"

The man cleared his throat and adjusted his pince-nez: "It's a very complicated matter, your ladyship. As the worlds, according to the statements of those two gentlemen, differ greatly in terms of metaphysics, metapsychics and expanded atmosphere, not to mention their world lacking a stable orbit, left a lone course, we have to recalculate...everything. This means..."

There was something about Porlock that made Rincewind cringe. He had seen a many odd people and beings in his life, but, even though Porlock looked normal and harmless in comparsion, there was something off about this man.

Porlock was, easy put, a squished version of the Dean without a beard and dark, pretty greasy hair.

But it wasn't the sight that made Rincewind feel unwell. More unwell than usual that is. He turned his head to look at Ponder, who was rocking from one feet onto the other while the older people talked.

"If you have anything to contribute, Ponder", he whispered, "go ahead."

Stibbons sighed but shook his head: "There's nothing I could add right now. I need to know exactly how things work here. It would be an utterly lost cause if I'd interrupt him now and try to apply our...", he stopped dead as he realized the tall blonde woman, who had been introduced to them as Lady Augusta Maddox, ruler of the city, was looking at him without actually doing so. It was similar to the way Lord Vetinari was able to do that. Ponder inwardly shrank together and felt a bit like he felt back on his first day at the University.

Yet, it did have an odd effect on him in addition. For a moment his mind seemed to be as clear as never before. With new found confidence he stepped forward, interrupting Porlock's explanations.

.-+-.

Elsewhere people were celebrating.

In fact there where quite a few elsewheres where that was happening. There were birthdays, weddings, a new occupation or many things more to be celebrated.

At this particular elsewhere the reasons were remotely...more curious...

"It should be done by now", said a male voice and the man it belonged to rose a glass.

"Can we be so certain?", another, higher male, pretty arrogant, voice inquired, "After all, what if they have figured that..."

"The plan is flawless. How should they have noticed? The Empress might be a clever woman, but I doubt she has any knowledge in that field. The same goes for his Lordship."

"Talking about Lady Augusta" a third, female, voice interrupted, "Have you given out new instructions to... the related service providers?"

"I have, what do you think of me?", the higher male voice huffed, "And before you ask, there will not be a problem when it comes to the fee."

"I assume...", the first voice almost chuckled, "...they'll find that their way home after work might be a bit...messy."

"Indeed."

"Well then, let us drink, friends, on the final solution to our problems. This day marks the moment we have gotten rid of the stones blocking our path into a bright future."

.-+-.

"Not allowed to participate in the project! Can you believe that?"

There were only two occasions when Ponder Stibbons could scare the living hell out of someone. One was when he's been having new ideas for a project or on the topic of the universe and everything. The other, which was the situation now, was when he threw one of his rare fits of rage. As in this case because someone outright doubted AND insulted his abilities.

Porlock had asked him a few, in his opinion very basic and useless, things about the Disc and then told him to go and enjoy his stay in the city.

The man plainly refused to let Ponder work on this.

And to add insult to injury this Mr Porlock had said he, Ponder, would not be qualified in this field as he has no idea how things work on Sildrys. No, not that he had no idea. That he never will have one, no matter how long he'd stay and study.

In fact Ponder had all reasons to be angry. And Rincewind had all reasons to sit silently on one of the beds of the room given to him and Stibbons and watch the other wizard rant away. After all, Ponder had, in his frustration, kicked a fully grown tree on the way here, leaving a small hole in the wood.

And so far he didn't seem to feel any pain.

It was pretty frightening.

The luggage had decided to watch the scene unfolding from atop the wardrobe, even though there was hardly enough space between the furniture and the ceiling.

"What is that Porlock thinking? It is not possible to..."

Much to Rincewind's relief Ponder was interrupted by a rather careful knock.

In fact it was already the sixth or seventh knock in the past fifteen minutes. But this time Ponder heard it too.

"Mr Stibbons, can I talk to you?", came a voice from the other side once the room was silent.

Ponder stepped over to open the door, looking at the face of an odd, rather plump dark-haired woman with broad pointy ears and no visible pupil or iris in the green orbs that were her eyes.

"Err..."

"I overheard Mr Porlock talking to you and see it as my duty to have a word with you. You seem like a clever lad to me. Can I come in?"

Finally calming a bit, and be it just cause the woman had broken his pace, Stibbons stepped aside, letting her enter.

"I'm Professor Carmody, Head of the Arcane Studies and Research Department", she introduced herself, once she was seated on one of the beds, opposite to the two men, who were both feeling rather uncomfortable at the sight of her but trying their best to hide it. "I feel obliged to apologise in the name of the school for my colleague's behaviour. I won't try defend him. He's an idiot. One of the best mathematicians we have, but an absolute fool. Not a trace of tact or imagination", she sighed. "But I doubt I'm telling you anything new there. As I also doubt our gods will help you back and as it is cruel to keep you away from home for a whole year or longer, let me suggest the following: Go over to the workshop at the clocktower and have a little chat with Colby."

With that, Professor Carmody smiled and rose.

"Who is that, if I may ask?"

"Colby might be the only person just as outraged as you about Porlock's antics, Mr Stibbons. One of the greatest minds on the entire planet."

.-+-.

"It is a most curious thing indeed" Lord Vetinari said, watching the city through the high windows of the palace's office.

Ever since they had left the school both he and Lady Augusta had been sharing their thoughts on the events of the hours past.

Her ladyship nodded agreeing, tapping her fingertips together: "You believe your police and wizards will be of aid?"

"I believe it depends on how well and how quick they can adapt to this world", Vetinari turned his head to face the woman at the desk, "I assume you have noticed it as well?"

Augusta smiled a knowing smile: "They started following us around Pipe Maker's Close. Any idea why?"

The thing meant was a cab which had seemed to be near them each time they turned a corner, and thereby had a brief glance at the traffic a bit behind their own carriage, and which was now, actually pretty hard to spot, standing in a side street below the palace.

"I must admit I am utterly clueless. But they are waiting down there."

"Curious." Augusta rose from her chair and pulled a cord. Several moments later the pug-man, who by now had been introduced to Lord Vetinari as a Mr Yates, entered.

"Yates", her ladyship started, folding her hands behind her back, "It is such a nice day today, I shall be taking the tea in the garden parlour."

"As you wish, madam."

The man bowed and left again.

Lady Augusta adjusted her jacket and looked at the Patrician, who nodded:

"I'd be delighted to join you, your ladyship."

.-+-.

Over at 'Fields Station' Commander Vimes was coming to the definite conclusion that something was utterly amiss.

The station wasn't very big, its cells located in the basement. All in all, it was impossible that a first year student could vanish from here. And accourding to Angua only thing off in that particular cell was a rather strong smell of peas.

Vimes' mind was racing.

"And you brought him in there yourself?", he looked up from his concentration and at a young fellow Dubois had introduced to him as Constable Partridge.

Partridge bothered Vimes.

He did seem clever and ambitious, but Vimes had a sour feeling the lad just joined the police because he read some cheesy mystery novels somewhere.

Oh, those were big in this world, something the Commander had quickly noticed. He hadn't yet had the time to read any of them, but even if he had it, he'd have still lacked the intention.

And Partridge was quiet. Not necessarily because he was shy, but...

"I 'id, Sir. I would have preferred 'o get him over 'o 'he city, but Chief Inspector Dubois pointed out Fields was closer."

How exactly does one manage to develop a speech defect that makes one drop all the Ts and Ds at the beginning of a word but none of the others.

"Dubois was there when you found the student?"

"Yes, Sir. We are 'rying 'o keep 'his matter secret, Sir, and so far 'hings worked well."

Vimes nodded. This city certainly was different from Ankh-Morpork. There the rumour of someone from a different world having arrived would have spread within one day. Here? Here apparently only some people at the university, a handful of policemen and the empress and her servants seemed to know. And a woman called Saliva Bottles.

And yet...

From what Vimes had seen so far of this city, Romree, people would have most likely shrugged it off if it weren't a threat. Which was actually something the folks at home would do too.

"Commander Vimes, Sir."

Vimes turned his head towards Carrot: "Yes?"

"We have finished questioning the guards here."

"Any explanation for the pea-smell?"

"No one here can tell. In fact no one here was on duty that day."

With a frown the Commander turned back at Partridge.

"'hat's entirely possible, Sir. 'here's a festival coming up near 'he end of 'he month and 'Fields' is only a small station and..."

Vimes gestured for the young man to stop. He already knew where that explanation was heading.

"And the woman, Carrot?"

"She's said to be on vacation, Sir."

"Capital."

A frown followed. This was mind-boggling. No. Actually, it wasn't. No one there to ask about the so-far only known person who could shine some light onto the matter? It was just classical. Plain classical.

.-+-.

The clocktower.

Every university worthy of calling itself one has one. Granted, maybe not the newer ones as it would look quite off to put a fine work of masonry atop a steel and glass building and maybe not those universities that don't have one for other reasons, but at a school this ancient and with magical disciplines on its schedule there just had to be a clocktower.

Ponder Stibbons and Rincewind, having learned their skills or attempted to learn them at the Unseen University couldn't help but think, each on his own, of this tower, at least its silhouette against the bright blue sky, being a scaled model of their very own Tower of Art.

A model done by someone who only heard of the Tower of Art, though, but still. It was twisted, with bits of stairs and stonework added around the outside here and there and and in general gave the impression of being the centre of something pretty odd.

Though even without the clocktower it would not have been possible to miss the building the two men were heading for.

Apparently all good universities with magic somewhere on their schedule looked like this: Old, venerable and with a newer building somewhere along the walls that should have borne a sign: _Warning__, __imminent __death __is __inevitable__._

Given, even this newer building was covered with ivy already. Two storeyed, with a many narrow windows the building seemed a bit as if someone built it elsewhere and then just 'put it where there was enough space'.

Said space was a bit away from the clocktower, nestled against the wall.

Rincewind nudged Ponder as they stood before the wooden door and pointed at a sign that read -Sed non aliquid ultra explosio-.

"It can't do anything worse than explode. What a charming motto", with a slight frown Rincewind knocked and both men were in for a brief moment of confusion when the door was opened.

"Skazz?", Ponder shook his head. He knew this was impossible, but for a few seconds he would have bet everything that the young man that had opened was one of his own students.

"Who?", the lad was just as scrawny and gangling as Skazz and if it weren't for this fellow to wear his hair, except the fringe, in a short ponytail, they would have looked identical. Granted, Skazz had no reddish spots in his hair, but still.

Needing a moment to get his thoughts back on track, Stibbons finally asked a better question:

"I'm sorry, I mistook you for a friend for a moment. Are you Mister Colby?"

"Certainly not", Ponder just knew the young man was blinking confused behind all that hair. "Only Colby we 'ave 'ere is over at the clock, repairing stuff. Why?"

"We were told to come here and talk to someone called Colby."

The fellow licked his lips and leaned against the doorframe: "As said, over at the tower. Best of luck, dude."

The door was closed again, leaving Ponder and Rincewind rather baffled for a moment.

"Ponder, are you certain that wasn't Skazz?"

"I really have no idea."

Stibbons shook his head and knocked the much more massive looking door to the clocktower.

"Should we just enter?", he asked after some times passed without anyone opening, "After all, the fellow said Mr Colby is repairing things in there."

"Ponder. It's a clocktowerd. Of an arcane university. It's most likely not a bright idea to enter it."

"Seriously, Rincewind. It can't be much different from our clocktower or the HEM."

Rincewind rolled his eyes with a frown as the younger wizard entered the building: "That's what I meant."

He paused, pondering if he should stay outside or follow the other male.

"Rincewind?" Stibbons took the decision for him. Now he had to follow. Albeit he did it very reluctantly.

And, as Rincewind had expected, he didn't like what he saw inside the building.

Before him and the younger wizard a labyrinth of pipes, tubes, valves and stairs rose up into the tower, seemingly fading into the clockwork or forming a weird symbiosis with the heart of the clock itself in some places. A lot of the contraption wasn't even visible in the low light above. Only where there were windows light streamed in through fusty glass, revealing a bizarre tangle of metal that yet appeared to work just fine.

"I wonder what this is for", Ponder mumbled, stepping closer and looking up at the machine "It's gigantic..."

The young man stood there in awe, not noticing a faint 'clank' from above.

Rincewind, however, did:

"Watch out!", he pulled Ponder back just in time before a rather large spanner crashed onto the ground, just where Stibbons had been standing.

From somewhere inside the cogwheels, gears and pipes of the machinery came a sound that, judging by its general acoustics was a curse.

A moment later a head peered over one of the railings above:

"Are you dead down there?"

Both men looked up at a dirty, and, contrary to everything the reader might believe, not extraordinary anything female face, lit by a small lantern.

"Erm, No", Ponder announced once his heartbeat slowed down, "Say, can you help us? We're looking for a Mister Colby."

The woman blinked: "Then what are you doing here? He's at the cemetery. As usual."

"But...", Stibbons looked at Rincewind, who shrugged, and back up at the woman, "But we've been told to come here and talk to Mister Colby about Mr Porlock."

"Eh?", again the female blinked, disappeared from view and, announced by a metallic clonking, came down the stairs a moment later, "Well, I'm the only Colby here", she held out a hand after putting the lantern aside and pulling off an oilstained glove, "Senka Colby, 9th year, mixed course, Head of Magitech Engineering. Contrivancer."

While Ponder, with a little bewilderment in his face, shook the hand, Rincewind tried to shake of the, quite eerie, impression the woman gave him.

She was tall, a bit chubby, black-haired, clad in a dark, stained, strapped corduroy dress and with an expression on her face that made Rincewind think that someone metaphorically threw Stibbons and the Bursar into a blender.

"I...didn't...", Ponder started, causing the woman to tilt her head and groan annoyed.

"You didn't expect a woman on the job, right?"

"Err...Yes..."

"Always the same. Apparently only males are allowed to be geniuses. Ah well, you're forgiven."

The Reader of Invisible Writings gulped and composed himself: "Err...In any case, ma'am, I'm Ponder Stibbons and this is..."

Before he could finish Colby squinted at Rincewind. Or better, his hat:

"Err...Willard?"

"Pardon?"

"Says so on your hat."

Rincewind blinked bewildered, carefully took it off, glanced at it and frowned. The sequins couldn't have fallen off in any other fashion, could they?

"Those are actually supposed to be Zs", he explained, putting his hat back on.

Colby's lips moved for a moment, before looking at Ponder: "Wizzard? Is that how they spell it where you're from?"

"Actually...No. But he's grown used to it."

"Aside from that, I'm not even sure if I have a first name. I'm Rincewind. Just Rincewind."

The woman nodded, picked up the spanner and eyed it for a moment: "So you're here 'cause of that idiot? Let me guess, he didn't allow you to work on that transdimensional gateway that would bring you and those other folks back home?"

"Indeed", said Ponder, nodding with a hint of frustration.

"Same here. Said I'm not needed on the project anymore. Had me show him and his team how to built something to channel the spells to open a portal and then shooed me away."

"Rude."

"Well, I'm not graduated yet, that's his second reason not to want me on board."

"And the first?"

"His ego, Mister Stibbons. They claim he's a great mathematician amongst other fields and he believes it most. To me he's a plain, pompous galoot", the woman, whose word couldn't have dripped with any more despise towards the man in question, sighed, put the tool aside and looked at her two visitors, "But the worst thing is, I have no idea why Professor Carmody sent you here. I doubt she wants you to listen to my rants about Porlock."

"Maybe", Ponder, well, pondered, "Maybe she thought that you can bring us home by a shorter amount of time than Porlock said he will."

Colby crossed her arms, tilted her head again and looked up to the ceiling, thinking.

"I'm not certain. I don't have access to the data he uses. And even if, the chances are astonishingly high it'd be utterly useless. After all, till your Lord Vetinari appeared here it was all mere theory and a few experiments with teleport spells. Would have to compile it all from scratch. This is beyond anything I have worked on before. I'd have to..." she started naming several things that made Rincewind's mind go and get some bigger boxes. Stibbons, though, not only seemed to understand things perfectly, he even interrupted the young woman with a line of suggestions to which she, amazingly agreed or had her own string of thoughts to say, no, the younger wizard also seemed in a bit of awe.

"Would you care to lend a helping hand, Mr Stibbons", Colby finally finished, rubbing her hands eagerly to start.

"It would be my pleasure."

As the woman turned and waved them to follow Rincewind inwardly prayed that Ponder did not just fall in love. That would have been extremely stupid and only lead to unnecessary trouble.

"If I may ask, what is this?", he suddenly heard the younger male's voice inquiring.

The female stopped and looked up along the pipes and up to the clockwork.

"The Machine."

"That's what I meant."

"No, we call it -The Machine- Mister Stibbons. Never found a better name. It's used to keep magic out of the water. We have a rift here, you see."

"A rift?", Rincewind took a step back. On the disc he would have been out of the building for quite a while already, but something kept him here to listen. Maybe a bit of curiousity, though it was more likely that he stayed because he had no idea what would expect him outside the university walls. And he wasn't keen to find out. Ponder meanwhile pulled out out his thaumometer and shook his head at it.

"Oh, what's that?", Colby's face twisted into the embodiment of interest.

"A thaumometer", Stibbons explained "It's used to measure the thaumic field and magnitude. And I think with a field as the one here it's useless to try and keep the magic out of anything. … Unless of course magic here works significantly different from the one I'm used to."

The woman smacked her lips: "I'd say so. For the Tollassiumpipes do a pretty good job. Y'know what. I best show you."

She then opened a small gate leading into the machine and waved the two wizards to follow. Ponder followed, his eyes gleaming with exploratory urge. Rincewind stood there for a moment, letting his eyes wander between the door to the outside and the dark, unsettling machinery into which Stibbons had just vanished.

-If something happens to him-, his conscience suddenly spoke up, -you'll never forgive yourself-

-I'll never be able to forgive myself if something happens to ME-, Rincewind retorted.

-He's your friend-

-He treats me like some cheap test subject-

His conscience sighed: -If he dies, you'll be stuck here for quite a while. Do you really want to find out what dangers lurk on this world?-

Now there was a word and reason to follow the two after all.

"It's...wow..."

There were few things to actually astonish the Reader in Invisible Writings AND leave him speechless. Normally they concerned Hex or the faculty and their unwillingness to understand things. But this. Twice Colby and Rincewind had to pull him back onto the rafter already as he, without noticing it, had tried to get closer to the thing below.

Colby, after having them led down several stairs underground, had explained that what they saw a few metres further below under a cage was pure, crystalised ley. Magic. She had continued to explain that ley is basically putty between this dimension and Sildrys' equivalent of the Dungeon Dimension (which itself differed greatly from the one Rincewind and Ponder where familiar with) and that there are some rifts leading to the ley-sphere.

Or so. Likely Ponder understood. Rincewind didn't. Half because the idea of this being all that kept Things away, half 'cause the view, after all, was too breathtaking to pay attention to anything else.

At first sight it looked like a heap of ice or crystals in a hole in the ground. But then one saw the whirls of light rising from the ground, spiralling around in the air, crossing through each other, glittering, growing, shrinking, forming shapes, strands,double helixes -now where did that word come from?- imploding and exploding into bright sparks of all colours.

Even, though hard to make out, a few traces of octarine, though none of the wizards dared to ask if the engineer could see it too.

"Should we really stand this close?", Rincewind finally intoned, worried greatly for possible effects or the sudden thinning of the rift and the appearance of a Thing cuased thereby.

"Naw, it's fine. Direct exposure ley has little effect on living beings", Colby explained, leaning onto the railing, "The problem is the water."

"Water?"

"You see, Mr Stibbons, water multiplies the effect when it comes in direct or semi-direct contact with ley. As do some other elements. Where do you think do things like the burak or the squonk come from?"

Ponder, unwilling to admit that he had no idea what those creatures were, guessed blindly: "They...drank water that was near a rift?"

"Not near, Mr Stibbons. ON. You can place as much water -in bottles, cans, buckets, bowls, whatever- as you want NEAR a rift, it would have no effect. But place it ON one, or let the source be under it and let the water have to flow through the rift, the position of rifts within the various spheres can be awkwardly mind-boggling, and 'boom'...drink it and you'd get the same results as if you'd been sittign on a bloody rift for centuries. That's why the pipes of the school are made from Tollassium. It's a metal that swallows magic", the woman stretched, "But enough of that. We should go back up, eat something and then get to work."

The two wizards looked at each other shrugging.

"Oh, just a second", Ponder suddenly rummaged his pockets, tapping against the thaumometre after a moment. "Odd."

"What is it?"

"It's the thaumic field, Miss. It's a mess. I either get a negative magnitude or one unusual high. This Tollassium seems similar to what we call denatured octiron, but even with that the magnitude... There. It's jumping again...We're above a concentration of raw magic and yet...", he frowned, pocketing the instrument again.

Colby pondered: "I think you have just named our first task at this, Mr Stibbons. Find the translation of your world's thaum to my world's ley."

.-+-.

The palace garden lay quiet when Augusta stepped out into the sunlight, steps crunching on the gravel that formed a path towards the small garden parlour.

Somewhere nearby someone found this occurrence excellent and almost too easy.

Then Lord Vetinari left the mainbuilding, following the empress down the walk.

Somewhere nearby someone panicked and did something horribly stupid.


End file.
